


Afterwards

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-29
Updated: 2003-05-29
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:57:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: ever wonder about what went through *her* mind when their world fell apart at the seams?





	Afterwards

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Afterwards

## Afterwards

### by Scully3776

Title: Afterwards   
Rating: PG-13   
Author: Scully3776  
Category: Secondary Character Perceptive Spoilers: "Release"   
Summary: .... ever wonder about what went through _her_ mind when their world fell apart at the seams? .... 

* * *

The paperwork came in the mail today. I opened the heavy envelope with the silver letter opener your sister gave me for Christmas three years ago. Pulled out the documents. Saw your awful handwriting, your familiar chicken-scratch, your signature, your name. All it needed now was my handwriting, my signature, my name.   
But what is my name now? I haven't decided whether or not to take back my maiden name or to keep yours out of spite. I've been told that divorce proceedings take forever and a day. But this all happened so fast. Too fast. In the same time it takes for a child to be snatched away, in a blink of an eye.   
I blinked my eye while watching Luke ride his bike around the block. In the half-second it takes to close your eyelids and then reopen them, he was gone, taking with my life, my soul, my love, my husband.   
I still can't believe this is happening. This isn't happening, I whispered over the phone when you called to tell me that they found Luke but it wasn't good news. I repeated that mantra over and over until the funeral and he was dressed up in his little suit he wore maybe twice in his life, Easter and Christmas. He was so still, like a little doll. I insisted on the cremation, you were so against it, but I didn't want to put my baby in the ground. I wanted his spirit to be released. To ride the winds as fast as he used to ride his bike. I gave our son's spirit to you. Did you let him go? Did you set him free? Or do you cling to that small box, clutching at the sorrow still? Or does it even matter anymore. Or rather, should it matter to me anymore? I'm the one who let you go.   
I know I'm the one who went to the lawyer, insisted that the papers I hold in my hands be drawn up. And deep down, I know that it's better that we go our separate ways. Maybe now you'll pursue your dreams of joining the FBI. You've been talking about that for years. Ah, but it was me that held you back. I know that you, southern boy, would have been happier living in Virginian countryside than in this urban jungle. But I had put my foot down. I don't want to leave Long Island. I don't want to move away from my family. I don't want to uproot Luke from his school. And having you being a cop is bad enough, how in the hell am I supposed to deal with you being a fed? What if something happens to you? How will I tell Luke that his daddy is gone? I never dreamed it would be the other way around. And the irony, the ultimate irony, living near Quantico would have probably been safer than here in New York.   
Probably, not definitely. There are no definites anymore.   
I had been so definite that you were going to contest the divorce. But what if you would have contested? I would still have to deal with the rest of my life, those piercing blue eyes of yours impaling me. Silently asking me why didn't I watch Luke better? Why wasn't I paying attention? How could I have let this happen? Everyone reassures me that you don't blame me. That you blame yourself. We all know you blame yourself. But you wouldn't let anyone absolve you of your imaginary guilt. And I never it heard it from you that you didn't blame me and I needed to hear that so badly. I wanted to cling to you and cry on your shoulder until we were both drowning in an ocean of tears and we could drown the grief together. But you chose to freeze your misery instead of letting it go. And in the process, you froze me out. And I had no one. You might as well have died along with Luke, as unreachable as you are. Luke at least, still loves me.   
And yet, even though I know signing this document is the right thing to do, I hesitate. I fight against myself. I summon up every ounce of self-control I possess not to tear these damn papers up into shreds. Not to run to the phone and call you at work. Tell you the divorce proceedings were just a bluff. To get your attention. To beg you to come back to me, we can start over, I know the good man I married is still there underneath all those layers of ice coating your heart after you saw our little boy cold and alone in that field. To cry like a weakling and tell you I'll do anything, anything you wanted me to, even if you asked me to cut out my own heart, I would. And I'd give it to you on a silver platter. What do I need a heart for anyway? My son is dead and my marriage, just as good as.   
This is the hard part. The admission of failure. I failed as a mother and as a wife. After I sign this paper, I can acknowledge my guilt and pick up the shards of my shattered life and start putting it back together. It won't be the same, won't look the same, but I must put myself back together. When I pick up my pen and put my name on this document, everything will be finalized and afterwards, I can start to heal. Maybe I will stop crying every night; maybe I'll stop missing you. I'll never stop missing our son.   
And maybe, you and I, maybe we'll be friends.   
Afterwards.  
* _The End_ *  
  


#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Scully3776


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